


Modern Medicine is Both a Blessing and a Curse

by i_know_its_0ver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, a little fluff, dub-con (sorta), porny porn, practical jokes gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_know_its_0ver/pseuds/i_know_its_0ver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a joke. Honest. Well, mostly. But Scott would stick with that story to his dying day.</p><p>(In which Jackson schemes, Scott is clueless, Stiles gets drugged with Viagra, and Derek lends a helping hand.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Modern Medicine is Both a Blessing and a Curse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rufflefeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/gifts).



> Warnings: dub-con, of the sex-pollen, made-them-do-it variety. 
> 
> Also, underage, because this takes place in some undefined near-future. 
> 
> I thought I was all done writing, and then rufflefeather goes planting ideas in my head, and I end up writing porn. IDEK. This is my first fic in this fandom and I'm really nervous. Hold me?

It was supposed to be a joke. Honest. Well, mostly. But Scott would stick with that story to his dying day. Not that anyone was ever finding out about this, because this was possibly the most ill-conceived prank in the history of teenage boys. And that included the time Stiles thought it would be funny to fill Scott’s browser history with gay porn, only to have his mom find it.

Yeah, this was worse. Because what Scott had failed to take into consideration was that he was a freaking _werewolf_ now, with hyper-acute werewolf senses. For instance, smell. Excellent sense of smell.

It had been Jackson’s idea, actually, and really, since when did Scott listen to Jackson? Danny had just looked uncomfortable and turned back to his textbook with a roll of his eyes that spoke volumes, if Scott bothered to pay any attention. He should probably listen to Danny more often, really.

“Oh come on, man. Stilinski’s so wound up all the time, the kid’s like a fucking time bomb. His epic virgin sexual frustration is just going to explode on some unfortunate victim and we’re probably going to have a lawsuit on our hands, a restraining order at the very least.” Which Scott did not find amusing, given their all-too-recent brush with Jackson and the law. They may be allies now, but all was _not_ forgotten.

“Fine,” Jackson sighed, with that calculated indifference with which he treated everything besides lacrosse and his car. “If you wanna keep being assaulted by the stench of his desperation for the next two years, whatever. But, really, you’d be doing the loser a favor.”

Which, well, didn’t make perfect sense, but he had a point about Stiles’s scent. Scott tried to avoiding smelling people as much as possible, because even after months to adjust, it was still weird to be able to smell people’s emotions, especially when they were, um, horny. And Stiles, was, well…a healthy teenage boy. And there were some things that you just didn’t need to know about your best friend.

“Oh right, I forgot, you’re too busy with your girlfriend to have fun anymore. Whatever.” Jackson sighed and rose from the table, tapping Danny on the shoulder as a signal to follow. Danny gave Scott a look full of things Scott couldn’t decipher, but it reminded him far too much of his mother whenever he and Stiles ‘bent’ the rules. It was a look he had instinctually learned to block out when it was inconvenient. Which was always.

“Fine,” Scott muttered under his breath, still not used to the idea that there were other supernatural creatures in this school who could pick up on that volume. “But where the hell am I going to get Viagra?”

Seriously, the things he did for his friends.

****

Stiles didn’t have big plans for his Friday night. Sure, he was at that age where he should have been out, partying, drinking, getting into epic trouble. But after months filled with far too much trouble of the life-or-death variety, he was perfectly content with a Friday night in with some World of Warcraft and Chinese food. Thrilled, actually.

Then Scott had shown up and ruined that, but Stiles was adaptable. It was just one of his many admirable qualities that no one else seemed to appreciate. And Scott was spending most of his free time with Allison lately, which Stiles was man enough to admit stung, just a bit, so having him show up voluntarily for some dude time was like a minor miracle. Gift horses and mouths, and all that.

Though maybe Scott was regretting his decision and experiencing Allison-withdrawals, because he was really twitchy tonight. Fidgeting was Stiles’s thing, thank you very much, he had that covered enough for the both of them. Scott was supposed to be mellow and calming, and his fidgeting was just making Stiles feel like he needed an extra dose of Adderall.

So when Scott disappeared to the kitchen to fetch some cokes, Stiles was actually a little relieved to have him out of the room for a moment. By the time Scott got back he had popped a dvd into his computer and was all ready for a completely ironic _Underworld_ marathon. Because, seriously, those werewolves were just ridiculous.

Scott didn’t even seem to notice the comedic goldmine, though, as he sat down and handed Stiles a glass, then watched him waaaay too closely until Stiles took a sip just to have something to do with himself and ease the awkward atmosphere.

That seemed to make Scott both more relaxed and more wound up at once, and really, Stiles was too tired to try and decipher his weird moods right now. He was the one crashing Stiles’s bachelor night, and they were _not_ having heartfelt, Allison-related conversations tonight. No way.

Stiles sipped at his soda in between making werewolf jokes, and he knew it wasn’t his best material, but Scott could at least make a token effort to appreciate his wit, instead of looking jittery and constipated. Maybe he was spending too much time with Derek lately, and broodiness was communicable.

And maybe Scott’s nerves were wearing off on Stiles, because suddenly he was feeling a bit overheated. He tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, feeling distinctly...off. And sure, he found Kate Beckinsale hot and all, I mean come on, leather jumpsuit, what’s not to like? But, um, not so much that he should be feeling that distinct tightening of his jeans that had become so uncomfortably familiar over the last couple years. Talk about bad timing. He was really not in the mood to pop a boner with Scott just a few inches away, watching Stiles like he was some kind of science experiment that required constant observation.

Stiles shifted, trying to ease his discomfort without, you know, blatantly adjusting his dick in front of his friend, because they were pretty comfortable with each other but, um, no. He took another sip of his soda, hoping maybe it would cool him down and distract him, though from what he wasn’t even sure, because his mind was definitely _not_ having sexy thoughts right now, and yet his dick didn’t seem to get the message.

Despite his best efforts to think about lacrosse and crime scene photos and every un-sexy thing he could think of, the situation was becoming pretty blatant and embarrassing and Stiles was ready to get up and excuse himself to the bathroom when Scott suddenly jumped up like he had been stung.

“I’m sorry!” he practically shouted, and whoa, indoor voices, but also, what? Stiles tried to recall some blood back north of his waist in order to figure out what the hell Scott was rambling on at about a million miles an hour, which, actually, kinda gave Stiles a weird pang of pride, but this was really not the time for that.

“Jackson thought it would be funny, and he said it would be _good for you_ , and I should have known, but I just, I don’t know what I was thinking but I can’t take this any more, there are some things that best friends should not know about each other, and I love you man, I do, but I can’t--”

“Scott!” Stiles broke in, not quite able to focus on his best friend’s face while his dick made a valiant effort to bust through demin, and _what the fuck?!_ “What is going on, and why is my dick exploding?”

Scott winced and pulled the guilty puppy dog look, but Stiles couldn’t really notice enough to be cowed by it right now, you know, more important things going on and all.

“Jackson-thought-it-would-be-funny-to-slip-you-Viagra-and-I-am-so-sorry-oh-my-god.” It came out as one long, slurred word, and only stopped when Scott ran out of breath. It took Stiles a moment to decipher that garble as Scott watched him with a look of shame and discomfort, that, now that Stiles understood, he most definitely deserved, the rat bastard.

“Seriously?!” He squeaked, and maybe it wasn’t his most manly moment, but really, seriously?! Because the one thing his overactive teenage hormones definitely did NOT need was chemical help to make them even more unbearable.

“I’m sorry, man, I am, I swear, but I just, I gotta go.” Scott was already moving towards the door, and really? You don’t just drug a bro and then leave him! There had to be codes for this kind of thing!

“Wait,” Stiles tried, but Scott barely turned, his nose scrunched up, cheeks blazing and eyes averted and _oh god_. Werewolves could smell arousal, couldn’t they? He had read that somewhere, and while it was academically interesting to receive confirmation, _oh my GOD_.

Scott awkwardly shuffled a few steps away, hunching awkwardly, and no, Stiles was not letting his mind even make the connection it was trying to, because that was just too uncomfortable and he would never recover from that thought if he let it fully form.

“I’m just gonna, um, go...find Allison.” And with that Scott was gone, leaving Stiles hunched over on his bedroom floor, heel of his hand pressed to his dick, his first orgasm already building fast, and thank god Scott had the timing he did, because Stiles was about to come in his pants like he was thirteen again and it was a small mercy, really, that no one was around to witness his intense shame.

But he could already feel the pressure building up again, his dick still completely, unforgivingly hard, and fuck his life, seriously. It was going to be a long fucking night.

After which he was definitely going to find new friends.

****

Derek was in the middle of training his betas when he got the text from Jackson. The teens had bitched and moaned about training on a Friday night, but as far as Derek was concerned, those were the sacrifices you made for having supernatural abilities. They could just suck it up.

_**Something up with Stiles. Needs your help.** _

Derek growled at his phone, a mix of agitation and fear coiling in his gut. Of course Stiles would go and get himself into trouble when Derek was in the middle of something. And what trouble had he even managed to find now? Things were finally quiet, for the first time in months. If he had gone and broken the truce with the hunters, so help him God…

“What’s wrong?” Isaac asked, picking up on the change in Derek’s mood. He seemed concerned, but also more than a little relieved that Derek’s attention had been diverted away from himself.

“Nothing,” Derek replied, infusing his voice with as much calm and confidence as he could. No reason to get the betas worked up when it was probably nothing. Just his human pack member being his usual, infuriating self.

He shot a text back to Jackson demanding details, but received no reply. He tried calling Stiles, but just got his idiotic voicemail message and promptly hung up before he had to listen to Stiles’s horrible attempts at singing. Once had been enough, thanks.

He wasn’t too concerned. Yet. If there were some major threat he would definitely sense it. But still, maybe he should head over and check it out. He would hate to have to go searching for Dr. Deaton in the middle of the night because Stiles had gone and hurt himself in the name of _research_. Again. It was amazing the kid had lived to seventeen, honestly.

“Wait here,” he instructed the betas, putting the full force of his alpha powers behind the command. “I need to go check something out, I’ll be back.”

He could practically _feel_ Erica rolling her eyes in frustration, but whatever. She would live.

He didn’t bother with his car, simply jogging the half mile to the Stilinski house. He slowed as he approached, focusing all of his senses on the house. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. He couldn’t smell any unfamiliar persons in the vicinity, and the house was quiet, but not alarmingly so. Stiles’s bedroom was the only lighted window in the house, which, given the hour, probably meant the Sheriff was still at work. Nothing unusual there.

Well, since he’d come all this way, he figured he may as well check in on Stiles. It would put his mind at ease, and then he could strangle Jackson later for wasting his time. And really, watching Stiles get all flustered about an unannounced visit was more amusing than dealing with his betas’ incompetence. Maybe.

The scent hit him as he scaled the wall in two easy bounds, though his brain reacted too slowly to decode it before he was already lifting the window and slipping his legs over the sill.

With the window open, the scent hit him in the chest like a physical blow: Arousal. Unbridled, uncontrolled arousal, spiking the air like pungent incense.

It was…oh god, it was intoxicating, and Derek should definitely turn around and go right back out the window right the fuck now before Stiles spotted him and—

“Derek?!” Stiles squeaked, in a pitch that made his sensitive werewolf ears flinch.

Derek turned back to the room, scowl firmly in place, ready to make his gruff excuses, but the sight before him halted him in his tracks.

Stiles was sitting in his computer chair, jeans pulled down around his thighs, dick hard and slick and pumping up into his hand, even as Stiles stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed, a mixed look of horror and lust warring across his face. The screen in front of him was covered in several video windows, showing a variety of porn that Derek would actually be quite intrigued by if he could find the brain cells to focus on anything except Stiles and the _smell_ coming off him.

“Oh god,” Stiles moaned, half mortification but also a very heavy dose of pleasure, as he continued to stroke himself, his eyes slipping shut. Derek could hear his heart pounding in his chest, inhaled and tasted the combined scents of arousal and precome and the rubbery slickness of lube, and something else, something chemically and wrong, but he couldn’t place it, and honestly couldn’t be bothered to think about it right that second.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles chanted, in rhythm with the movements of his hand, eyes squeezing shut as a flush splashed across his cheeks. “Can’t, can’t stop, oh god, so sorry, please, just, hnnnnnnnnnng--”

Derek knew that random string of words probably meant something, and his human side insisted that he should really put more energy into figuring it out, but every breath was saturating his senses with the scents of arousal and undeniable _want_ , his own as well as Stiles’s, and when Stiles made that high whimpering noise his wolf took that as all the invitation needed.

****

Oh god. Oh crap. Oh fuckity fucking _fuck_ , seriously? How was this his life? How? Seriously, universe, what kind of puppy-killer had he been in his last life?

Because instead of the quiet evening he had been hoping for, or even the epic jerkoff session he had resigned himself too, because he had the worst friends _ever, seriously_ , he was now currently moaning like a porn star in front of Derek Fucking Hale, of all people, and he couldn’t seem to stop.

If the earth opened up right now, it would be a mercy.

He should feel massive, world-shattering embarrassment, and truly, honestly, he did. But somehow it just wasn’t enough to overcome the desperate rush of blood to his dick, _demanding_ release, before it literally exploded, leading to some kind of permanent disfigurement.

And between embarrassment and having his dick explode, well. His hand knew what was important.

He thought maybe Derek would be a pal and put him out of his misery with a well-placed fang to the throat, but no, he was just sitting on his window sill, watching Stiles with glowing red eyes like he was in a damn trance. That was probably the sign of an impending rage-explosion or something, that kind of stillness was almost never good, but it was _really_ hard to care about Derek’s stupid alpha rage right now. He would put up with the lectures about offending Derek’s sensibilities later, when he wasn’t bleeding his lifeforce from his dick.

“God, Derek, could you just please, just, stop it, with your... _face_ , oooooohmygod,” which Stiles thought was a pretty eloquent way of asking Derek to get his stupid gorgeous face out of here and stop making things worse, but apparently Derek was not fluent in Stiles-speak because his eyes only flashed dangerously, and shit, _shit_ , now he was getting up, and maybe this really was the end after all, maybe Derek was going to murder him for getting off looking at his stupid sharp cheekbones and thinking about that _mouth_ \--

Or, apparently, he was going to sniff Stiles’s neck like it was fucking fascinating, and okay, maybe he was just preparing to release the fangs, sizing up the best spot for a fatal bite, except no, that definitely wasn’t a fang, was that-- was that his _tongue_?

Oh, that moan would make even the sluttiest porn star blush in shame, but really, what was he supposed to do with a smoking hot werewolf _licking_ his neck? He didn’t think he could withstand that even without the extra boost of chemical encouragement.

“Relax, Stiles,” Derek all but purred in his ear, and no, wait, Stiles was mixing up his dog metaphors with cats, but what-the-fuck-ever. “Just let me give you a hand.”

And was that a chuckle, from _Derek_? Was he choosing now, of all times, to show a (terrible) sense of humor? But then Stiles didn’t really have time to dwell on it, nevermind call him out on it, because a large calloused hand settled alongside his, pumping his cock in rushed, brutal strokes, as Derek’s mouth closed over his own, and nothing else in the world officially mattered anymore.

****

A part of Derek still couldn’t believe what he was doing, but his wolf was howling in pleasure, and Stiles was moaning and gasping beneath him, where Derek had finally got him spread out on the bed thanks to a bit of manhandling, because Stiles’s limbs had apparently forgotten how to function.

“Wait, what about you, don’t you--” Stiles asked, pawing at the front of Derek’s jeans in place of actual words.

“It’s fine,” Derek rumbled, because sure, his dick may be screaming at him for attention, but he could control himself, he could wait. Unlike Stiles, who still seemed to be crawling out of his own skin in desperation. “Just let me...”

“Come on, I have an idea,” Stiles panted, in between pulling Derek’s pants open and desperately trying to push them down, out of the way, and Oh. Yeah, this was definitely one of Stiles’s better plans, Derek decided, as he continued to grind down against the small body beneath his, only without anything between their bare flesh now, and god, that felt _right_ in a way he wasn’t ready to examine too closely right this minute.

Though Stiles seemed more than willing to distract him, with grasping hands and heated kisses, as Stiles’s body tightened _again_ , pulling Derek over the edge with him and into a few seconds of blissful emptiness.

****

Seriously, Stiles thought, this night may never end. It felt like being stuck in a Groundhog’s Day-esque loop, only instead of waking up and living the same day again, it involved coming like a freight train and then going right back to being just as horny as before, no progress being made.

“Oh god, that was, that was...fucking incredible, and...fucking hell, not enough. How can it seriously be hard again already?!” Stiles moaned miserably, enjoying the way Derek rumbled against his chest, in what may have actually been _laughter_ , the cruel bastard. “Is it possible to get third degree burns on your dick from chafing? Because I think I’m more than halfway there, and I really don’t want to find out. Not that I don’t appreciate the help and all--”

“Stiles,” Derek rumbled, pushing Stiles onto his back and sliding down his body, trailing small nips and kisses along his overheated skin. And suddenly the rough heat of Derek’s palm was replaced by the slick wetness of a tongue and oh. Oh, that was a good solution to that problem. God, Derek was so clever, why hadn’t Stiles thought of that?

“Stiles,” Derek grumbled, and no, no, bad, mouth back on dick. “Shut up.” Oh. Maybe he had been saying all of that out loud.

He didn’t even have time to be embarrassed as Derek wrenched another gut-deep moan from him, which, if Derek’s renewed enthusiasm was any indication, was vastly preferred to his babbling. Well. He could work with that. Stiles was nothing if not adaptable.

****

Turns out a very healthy, very well-stimulated teenage boy can only come about eight times before his entire body feels like it’s going to unravel. Stiles’s dick makes a valiant attempt at a ninth round, but the drugs were mostly gone from his system, finally. Derek could only faintly smell them somewhere in the background, drowned out by the heavy scents of come and sweat and utter, bone-deep contentment. And that was a much better scent.

“I don’t know whether to kill Scott or kiss him,” Stiles mumbled, face smooshed against Derek’s chest where they had finally settled. Though Derek was pretty confident Stiles wasn’t going to be doing either of those things anytime soon, because they would both require moving, and Stiles was yawning like a sleepy kitten, nuzzling against him, and dammit...that should not be so cute. When exactly did he start thinking of Stiles as cute? Probably longer ago than he was really willing to examine right this moment.

Derek growled in the back of his throat, mostly for form, because even he wasn’t sure whether to be angry or grateful. But the whole pack was definitely getting a lecture about boundaries and respect and minding their own damn business. Which he suspected would go over about as well as the rest of his lectures. Teenagers.

“Fine,” Stiles conceded, moving minutely closer and humming in appreciation as Derek’s arm tightened around his waist. “No kissing. Of Scott, I mean,” he hastened to add, when Derek raised a disapproving eyebrow, and punctuated his point with a quick peck to the part of Derek’s chin he could reach without having to stretch too far. “But maybe a thank-you card. Do you think Hallmark makes a ‘Thank You For Helping Me Lose My Virginity, Even If Your Methods Were Underhanded and Poorly Thought Out’ card?”

Maybe Derek didn’t have to kill anyone, after all. Stiles would just embarrass them all to death. And really, it was no more than they deserved.


End file.
